


breathing is hard until you're free

by rumpledvelvet



Series: beneath the lights ( model au ) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Attempted Sexual Assault, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Queerplatonic Relationships, Trans Male Character, Trans Yuri Plisetsky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledvelvet/pseuds/rumpledvelvet
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is fifteen and he's suffocating.Or, the model au nobody asked for.





	breathing is hard until you're free

**Author's Note:**

> This fic means everything to me, because I put my own personal experiences and those of some of my friends into these characters. It's super personal and I really like it so tell me what you think!
> 
> It's unbeta'd, so please tell me if you see any glaring mistakes. 
> 
> Dedicated to all trans people going through it – it'll be okay. I know it's hard, but it will.

_ Fuck your ribbons and your pearls _

_ Cuz I’m not just a pretty girl _

––––

Yuliya plisetsky is twelve years old when she's asked to model for a boy who couldn't make it to the shoot. Her grandpa isn't pleased, originally, but the shoot pays double and if they want her career to flourish a more diverse portfolio was the ideal.

She sat with her back ballerina straight and her hands clasped in her lap while the stylists primped and preened her to look like a little boy around her age. They folded her hair up into a bob, lined under her eyes, and put a Leopard print hoodie on her and she felt...different. 

The clothes felt better than the ones she had come in with, more  _ right _ . More  _ her _ . 

“You know,” one of the stylists said when Yuliya’s grandpa wasn't listening, “You could be a very handsome boy if you wanted. You'd slay hearts everywhere you went.” 

Yuliya didn't much like the idea of slaying hearts as she walked down the street, but the prospect of being thought of as a boy was one she couldn't say she hated. She asked one of the older models in the shoot what the boy who couldn't attend was called. 

_ Yuri _ . 

Yuri wasn't far off from Yuliya, and it felt like fate. 

_ —— _

Yuri Plisetsky was fifteen as he sat up straight in the makeup chair beside Viktor Nikiforov and felt a little like he was suffocating. The feeling, of course, could be attributed to the corset currently crushing his ribs and what little chest he retained after years of ballet and ice skating, but he knew it had more to do with Viktor and his pale, bare,  _ masculine _ chest than anything else. Yuri would have given anything to sit shirtless without someone commenting that “ladies didn't  _ do _ such things!” He was jealous.

The taller model was reclining in his own make up chair with a dark, expensive blazer that smelled like day old beer and the cologne Yuri vaguely remembered the model Katsuki Yuuri favoring splayed open rather artistically. He wanted to say something, anything to his idol turned mentor, to beg him to see that under the ugly pink eyeshadow and glitter that Yuri was  _ suffocating _ . 

“Yuliya, aren’t you the prettiest girl in the building!” one of the stylists cooed, brushing her fingers over his too long blond hair and squeezing his too thin shoulders. If she caught the way he tensed and his eyes hardened at a name he no longer considered his own, she didn’t say a word on it, only continuing her mindless fawning over the way he’d been prettied up for the consumption of the modeling world. “I’d kill for hair this long!”

_ Take it _ ,  _ I don't want it, you hag _ , he thought sharply, digging his perfectly manicured nails into his seat. 

“ _ You _ cut your hair, Mila.” Viktor pointed out, lazily turning his head to look over at the two of them. something unknowable crossed over his icy blue eyes and Yuri watched the masculine grace with which he reclined his body against the arm of his chair. “Can I talk to our little star alone before the chaos of the show? I want to give some sage words of encouragement.” 

Yuri found himself snorting into his shoulder, ducking the lower half of his face in to smother his giggles in front of the older model. “The only ‘sage’ thing about you is that gray hair of yours, Nikiforov.”

Viktor took the insult in stride with a sweet smile and shrugged good naturedly as Mila and a few other stylists and makeup artists slipped from their immediate area to give them the illusion of privacy. Mila lingered a little too close for comfort for a few minutes before Yuri shot her a warning glare and she left them to their devices. He didn’t know what to expect from Viktor’s sudden request and his guard was coming up swifter than the older model’s heart eyes whenever he watched Katsuki sway down the runway. 

“What do you want me to call you, Yuliya? I would rather not make you uncomfortable if I can avoid it.”

The sensation of suffocating only grew and Yuri gripped the arms of his chair in a vice grip as he struggled to breathe through the corset. No one had ever asked Yuri if there was something he’d rather be called than that  _ ugly _ name. “I-I, I don’t know what you mean?” He cursed himself mentally for his weak deliverance; he looked up to Viktor, but that didn’t mean he wanted the older man to look  _ down _ on him in return. “Everyone calls me Yuliya, it’s my name..”

“Not if you don’t want it to be.” 

The sentence echoed in his brain for several moments and he took the first deep breath of the night. The nerves of walking the runway and the discomfort of the corset reinforcing the fact that the world thought he was a girl were still there, but he felt lighter and breathing was easy again.  _ not if you don’t want it to be _ …

“Are you alright? Is the corset too tight?”

He laughed, because  _ of course _ the corset was too tight, because Viktor cared enough to  _ ask _ . “My name is Yuri Plisetsky and I think that I’m a boy. And of fucking  _ course _ the corset is too tight, you moron. It’s a  _ corset _ .”

Viktor beamed at him with a smile that had won hearts around the world more than ten times over and reached over to offer Yuri his hand. “Nice to meet you, Yuri Plisetsky. Now, you may not believe this but I know my way around a corset and could loosen that up for you, but only if you want.”

“...Please?” 

As Viktor helped him stand and proceeded to carefully loosen up the laces of corset, he explained that he was dating Katsuki Yuuri, who identified as genderfluid and that if Yuri had any questions about gender or coming out that he could ask either of them and it wouldn’t be a problem.

Yuliya was dead to Yuri now that Viktor Nikiforov had enough sense to see that one young model among many was  _ suffocating _ . 

––––

Yuri was sixteen and was slowly amassing friends who understood who he was under all of the frills and ribbons of the fashion industry. It hadn't surprised him to find out that Viktor had all sorts of well connected friends of varying sexualities and genders – this was the fashion industry after all – though their willingness to talk to Yuri about their experiences certainly did. 

Ji Guanghong was a young chinese model only two years older than Yuri himself, who identified quite firmly and publicly as non-binary and reminded Yuri of a unicorn with the aura of softness they carried with them everywhere they went. Katsuki had introduced them a few weeks after Yuri came out to Viktor and he was still surprised about how quickly he became friends with Guanghong and the mutual understanding they shared. 

“Hey, Guanghong? Do you know where your boyfriend got his binder?” Yuri made a vague motion that made it look like he was wrapping his chest once Guanghong looked up at him from where they were painting his toenails ink black. Guanghong had once explained to him that nail polish was as genderless as an amoeba, and Yuri allowed them to paint his nails whenever they wished so long as the color was never the dainty pinks all of his stylists had insisted on. And so long as he was able to start picking at his nails the next day without being judged. 

“No, but he just ordered a new one the other day so I can ask him! Are you thinking about actually getting one? And don’t move your  _ feet _ , I don't want to have to repaint them again.” They hissed at him, shifting back on their knees to grab their phone and send the required text message in a rain of heart emojis and several kissy faces. 

“I don’t think I would mind getting one. Nikiforov offered to buy me one but I figured he didn’t actually know anything about them so..” Yuri shrugged and padded his feet carefully on the floor when Guanghong wasn’t looking. He didn't even think there was much to bind down, but he'd rather look  _ entirely _ flat-chested when he wasn't modelling.

“What was it like?” He asked after a beat of comfortable silence and the tapping of thumbs on iphone screens. When they tilted their head in question he took a breath and elaborated. “Coming out. What was it like? For you.” 

They considered this, their thumbs thoughtfully tapping against the sides of their cell phone. Yuri almost wanted to take the words back, but then Guanghong answered with the tone of someone who was weighing their words very carefully. “It was..difficult, honestly. The world has come a long way in understanding the spectrum of gender and sexuality but when people say they’re non-binary it’s still considered.. _ taboo _ or strange like there aren't thousands – if not millions – of people who identify this way. So I mostly spent my time before coming out weighing my options. Actually coming out, though, was the most freeing experience because  _ I _ knew who I was and  _ I _ was so proud of myself that telling everyone else came easily. Coming out isn’t for everyone else, Yuri, it’s for  _ you _ .” 

Yuri mulled that around in his mind while Guanghong texted Leo with one hand and finished off painting his toenails with the other. Doing something entirely for himself was a new experience for him, especially with how firmly he had instituted himself as a female in the public eye and had given himself so firmly to his fans and career, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to be selfish just this once. 

And was it really  _ that  _ selfish if it was going to make him happier in the long run? He didn’t think so. 

“Oh! Leo says he’ll send you the link to the website he gets his binders from and also wants to know if you want to come to brunch with us and Phichit on saturday?” 

“What an idiot. Couldn’t he have texted me that too?” He laughed, a loose happy laugh that made Guanghong beam up at him. “I’m coming, I like brunch.”

––––

Yuri was seventeen and throwing up his breakfast in the bathroom of a photoshoot. He could distantly hear Viktor shouting at the photographer in thick russian through the equally thick door and he almost felt sorry for the man but then remembered why he was getting the scolding of the century. That scum deserved the worst his mentor-turned-manager could dish out and  _ then _ some. 

‘ _ C’mon, Yuri, _ ’ he’d said while backing him into a corner when his two chaperones were out of sight, camera hanging forgotten around his neck as a finger came a fraction too close to his face, ‘ _ All the pretty girls give me a kiss, won’t you? _ ’ 

_ All the pretty girls.  _ He wasn't a pretty girl. He had never wanted to be a pretty girl. 

For all of Yuri’s reputation of being loud with angry with those who crossed him, he couldn’t bring himself to make a sound in protest but Viktor and all his goodness came back and let loose some of that good old fashioned russian rage on the animal. It took a few moments for the sudden freedom to register but when it did, he felt unclean and rushed to the bathroom. 

There was a gentle knocking at the door and Yuri shrunk down with a soft whimper, trying to pretend that he wasn’t there, or this weak, or that the situation wasn't happening at all.

It didn't work. 

“Yuri, it’s me. You don’t have open the door if you don’t want to.”

_ Yuuri _ . 

Despite being told he didn’t have to open the door, he cracked it just a smidge to hear the older model better. Yuuri was always a more comforting force than Viktor, with his soft voice and generally more welcoming demeanor. “I’m.. okay..”

“It’s okay to not be okay after that.” Yuuri sat down beside the door and slipped his hand in the crack for Yuri to hold if he so chose to. “I wouldn’t be.”

“He called me a girl. I’m..I’m  _ not _ a girl. Right? I’m not just making this whole thing up for attention?” After a moment, he reached out to hold onto Yuuri’s hand and relished in the soft comfort of his grip. 

“You are a boy if you say you’re a boy, Yurio.” A gentle squeeze to his hand. “You’re a growing, handsome, and incredibly grumpy russian  _ boy _ who is one of the most promising models in the world today. And really likes cats. Besides, I would never think you wanted more attention; you’re in the public eye enough as is.” He paused but there seemed to be something heavier in it and Yuri obligingly stayed quiet. “I once asked my sister the same question when I was about your age and having the first identity crisis in a long line of them. She told me something that I’ve never once forgotten and will probably remember until the day I die: if you have to ask if you’re making something up, there’s a very slim chance that you actually are. You are valid and your feelings are valid.” 

_ Your feelings are valid. You are valid. _

“What if I come out and people hate me, Katsudon?” 

There was an army of ‘what if’s and Yuri hated each and every one of them. He knew he’d have no trouble standing up for what he believed in, especially with his friends standing behind him every step of the way. And he didn’t  _ want _ to care about what a bunch of assholes on the internet with nothing better to do but to talk shit about people they didn’t even know, but if enough hate came his way he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. 

“There are always people who hate things they don’t understand, Viktor and I got so much hate when we started dating publicly that he decided to make a book. We look at it when we want to remember how petty and sad people can be.” Yuri laughed softly, giving Yuuri’s hand another squeeze. “There's another volume for when we got engaged. He's thinking of making one for our wedding, too.” 

That didn’t sound like a bad idea.. 

“Nikiforov  _ would _ , honestly. Can't say it's the worst idea he's ever had, though.” 

–––

“Hey, you're all recovered!” Leo grinned as Yuri let him into his apartment where Viktor, Phichit, and Yuuri still refused to let him do absolutely anything they deemed too strenuous. Seunggil was supervising, supposedly, but they all knew he was just waiting for Phichit to be done so they could leave. 

“Thanks, you're the only one who's noticed.” Yuri quipped dryly, closing the door and making a show of asking Viktor for two cups of tea. “Did you talk to that tattoo artist you mentioned?”

The american nodded eagerly, waving a hand at Seunggil before sitting on the arm of the seat Yuri had chosen for himself. “I did. You wouldn't be his first client who wanted to incorporate the scars into a tattoo. You  _ are  _ however _ , _ the only one who has wanted tiger stripes. He wanted me to ask why.”

“I like tigers. They're strong and beautiful, I find that incredibly relatable.” He rested his hands over his thin tank top with a soft hum, looking down at where his scars were hidden with a small smile and Leo could tell he was envisioning how the tattoos would look. “Did he sketch something?”

“Oh, yeah! hold on, it's riiiiight.. here!” He handed over the portfolio and watched a bright smile curl over Yuri’s lips. “Good?”

“It's  _ perfect _ .”

“What's perfect?” Viktor tilted his head curiously, giving Yuri and Leo a mug each before catching sight of the tattoo design and gasping softly. “Oh. It certainly is perfect. You can get it in a month or so, right?”

Yuri nodded eagerly, his blue green eyes scanning over the tiger stripes he couldn't wait to see inked into his skin. “Right before I go back to modeling.”

“Yuri, can I post the first picture of it?” Phichit called from the kitchen, grinning and leaning against the counter. “I swear I’ll get a good angle.”

Seunggil rolled his eyes fondly, leaning over the back of the couch to look at his boyfriend. “You  _ always _ get a good angle, Phichit. You're usually paid to find them.” Phichit shrugged, his grin ever widening. 

——

Yuri was nineteen and he had one of the greatest ideas of his young life. He was going to come out during his return to modeling during the very last show of the winter season. 

“That's quite the dramatic way to come out.” Otabek noted as he carefully braided Yuri’s hair back out of his face. It was longer than he usually kept it with the ends brushing delicately over the nape of his neck. “You couldn't like, do an interview or something? Something benign, normal?” The  _ safe _ was left unsaid but still hung tangibly in the air.

He wasn't entirely surprised that Otabek was trying to talk him out of the upcoming spectacle of his return to modeling. His queer platonic partner preferred to be behind the scenes and wasn't  _ opposed _ to Yuri coming out on his own terms, just concerned about potential backlash. He understood this, and appreciated it, but he was still Viktor Nikiforov’s protege and neither of them did anything halfway.  

“Interviews are for people who are not  _ me _ . Modeling helped me find out who I really was and I want to use it to tell everyone else who I really am.” He hummed as Otabek pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head and squeezed his shoulders fondly.

“I can't argue with that, can I? Wanna watch the Men’s Grand Prix?”

“Oh, shit, yeah!” Yuri scrambled over Otabek to turn on the tv, only stopping when Otabek ran his fingers delicately over his almost healed tiger stripes. “They look good, huh?”

Otabek rolled his eyes as he took the remote and turned to the appropriate channel. “I cannot believe you extended them to your ribs. But yes, they look very good, tiger man.”

Otabek was absolutely terrible with nicknames but Yuri couldn't say that he hated being called tiger man. He..rather liked it, in fact. 

——

Yuri bounced idly on his toes as he watched the other models filter in and out of the backstage and the fluttering rushes of fabric as outfits were swiftly changed. His nerves were running higher than the night he had came out to Viktor and a little voice that sounded an awful lot like Otabek told him that he was  _ afraid _ . 

Afraid of crowd rejection. Afraid he'd chicken out at the very last moment. Afraid of what happened if he went through with it. Afraid of what his grandpa would say if he were still alive.  _ Afraid. _

Fuck, was he even sure he could do this?

“Someone get Viktor an outfit!” 

_ Huh _ ? 

Viktor was retired, and had been for years even if he didn't let his figure slip, what did  _ he _ need an outfit for? Yuri turned his head questioningly to celestino as he fussed with Yuuri’s final look of the night. Most of the thing was lace and diamonds and Yuri admired his confidence to wear such a thing. Yuri was wearing a crop top that put his tiger stripes on full view of the crowd and pants that might as well have been painted on. Celestino had really outdone himself.

“What the  _ fuck _ is that geezer getting dressed for?”

“You need moral support.” Viktor said with the same smile he wore the night Yuri asked him to call him by his chosen name as stylists rushed to take his measurements and threw him into violet silk evening jacket and matching black pants. He looked rather like a pimp, Yuri thought. This did not help his nerves even if it  _ was _ funny. “If you need someone to walk with you, I will. Yuuri, too, if you'd like.”

“Katsudon–?” Their dual offer did help his nerves immensely and for the first time since he'd dressed that night, Yuri ceased his anxious bouncing.

“Of course me too.” He grinned at Yuri and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “That is, if Celestino doesn't kill us for upsetting his precious walking order.”

Celestino loved Yuuri, and in turn Viktor and Yuri, the entire fashion world was certain he'd let them get away with murder if he had to, so Yuri did not think they were at much risk. 

“I don't care about the walking order anymore. I just want  _ piccolo tigre _ to say his piece.” The  _ piccolo _ was intentional and a subtle encouragement that Yuri found he needed. He gave the man a swift hug and quickly grabbed Viktor and Yuuri’s hands before taking a huge breath.

For once in his modeling career, Yuri did not feel like he was suffocating. He was breathing freely with his two career parents at his side and he was about to  _ truly _ be free. 

As one the three of them came down the runway to thunderous applause and shouts of surprise but the cheers of their friends and family in the audience rung loud above all of the other noise. 

Distantly, Yuri recognized the importance of the three of them walking at once down the runway where they'd all met for the first time. Yuuri, walking in his final show before retiring. Viktor, walking for the first time since his retirement. and Yuri himself, walking in all men’s clothes with dark black tiger stripes standing out against his pale skin for the first time in his career. 

When they reached the end of the runway, Yuri could finally see Phichit and Seunggil sitting in the front row beside Otabek, Leo, and Guanghong all waiting with baited breath for him to say what he needed to say. 

Another breath, deep and slow, and he let go of Viktor and Yuuri’s hands and raised his voice loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd. 

“My name is Yuri Plisetsky, and I am a man.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me at [my yoi tumblr](https://phiichiits.tumblr.com) or [my main tumblr](https://niifflers.tumblr.com)! i take prompts on both and i'll be posting some other things about model au there!
> 
> comments & kudos make me a happy author!!


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